Flash was the one who found Andrea there, head buried in hands and silently sobbing to herself. Andrea never cried. But without sounding like she was feeling sorry for herself, she was pretty sure you were allowed to cry when your dad had lung cancer and was predicted to die before the end of the year.

Nobody was supposed to find her. As soon as she'd got the news in the form of a call from her father's doctor, she'd ran straight to the first empty place she could find, a desolate corridor. She'd completely forgotten that Flash was coming tonight, and that there was a lot to talk about in terms of the new packaging for her rapidly growing brand of fags. It had been organised days ago. If she had remembered, she would have held herself together for one more day. Even at fourteen, Andrea was bloody strong. But now she felt broken and useless and purposeless.

When she had heard the sound of footsteps on the creaky wooden floor, Andrea had tried to wipe her eyes and pretend she was just sitting here.

"Andrea! I was looking for you. I was thinking, about the-"

At that point, Flash caught sight of the eye makeup running down her face, ruined by her tears.

"Er... should I... er... how about I go and get-"

"If you tell anyone about this I will personally slice your tongue out and... just... fuck it. Fuck it all. We're all going to die." Her voice was loud, hysterical. Flash probably thought she was going mad. He didn't know her too well, but anyone could tell that this was out of character for Andrea.

Then there were more footsteps to be heard. Andrea let out a loud sob.

"Hey, Flash! Kelly wanted to- holy shit, Morticia, what the hell is wrong with your face?!"

Seeing her more closely, Taylor frowned. She couldn't possibly shoot insults at Andrea in this state. You didn't kick a man when he was down. Trying to awkwardly mime to Flash to go, she stood for a couple of moments before he got the message.

"Alrigh', er, Rea, you, er... good luck?" Taylor shot him a violent glare. "Bye, ladies." He made a hasty retreat. Taylor sighed.

Seeing Andrea like this wasn't just completely unreal, it sort of made her feel angry. And sympathetic. At the same time. Angry because she couldn't do anything to help, angry because she didn't know if she wanted to. And sympathetic because Andrea's face looked like a violence explosion of goth makeup, ruined by water.

So Taylor just took a seat next to her on the windowsill. "What's wrong?" she murmured so quietly it could barely be heard.

In any other state of mind, Andrea would have punched her in the face and sent a stream of angry insults and threats at her. But today, she was out of her mind with worry and she couldn't help the words which came tumbling out of her mouth. And it helped. Telling someone. In between hiccups. It wasn't the ideal person, but Andrea barely noticed it was the chav she'd spent all her school years hating.

Because Taylor listened, and frowned, or held Andrea's hand, at all the right times as she spoke. And when the emo was finished, Taylor pulled her into a tight hug, rubbing her back as she cried.

It was a few minutes before they pulled apart, and Andrea began to regain her senses.

"Uh, thanks," she muttered awkwardly. "But if you go off and tell all your little chav friends about this, I will slit your throat while you sleep." There. Andrea was back.

"Wouldn't dream of it, coffin queen," Taylor quipped as she left with a little wave.

And Andrea headed for the bathroom, to fix the bloody makeup disaster.